


Got Your Back

by bookwyrmling



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, M/M, POV Alternating, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 06:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19458085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: There was a lot Kent Parson didn't say. But he could, if he wanted to. And that was the most important part.





	Got Your Back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [historical_allusions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/historical_allusions/gifts).



Everybody knew you didn’t talk about Jack Zimmermann around Kent Parson. You could talk about juniors—he’d even jump in with his own stories from Rimouski—but despite the media’s craze, despite the pictures and the clips and the rumors about the rumors, Kent Parson never talked about Jack Zimmermann.

It seemed only right, Jeff told Owen on his first day with the team, that they followed his lead.

Owen Troy was 20 years old—5 days from his birthday—on his first day of training camp. He’d been drafted late in the second round earlier that summer and attended both the Dev Camp and Rookie Camp, but today he got to skate with the entire team, and that included Kent Parson, youngest captain ever in the NHL. Owen had played against the guy in Midget Minor before he’d been drafted into the Q. He’d been small and fast and a pain in the team’s ass because of it. None of that had changed in the intervening years and Owen was glad to be on the same side as Parson this time around.

Not talking about one guy he’d never known didn’t seem like too much of a burden to Owen, so he’d nodded and shelved the talk and shot the shit with Parson, laughing about their own shared memories of New England minor hockey, Owen on a Boston team and Parson living with his aunt on Cape Cod.

Owen knew better than to expect a roster spot right away, though, so when he was sent down half-way through pre-season, he prepared to work as hard as he could in the AHL until he got a chance to go back up.

* * *

Nobody knew you didn’t talk about Jack Zimmermann around Kent Parson, at least not back in 2009. Jeff and his wife, Elena, had been the ones to take the kid in for his first season with the team and figured after almost losing his friend, he’d likely need to talk about shit every so often.

Parser was surprisingly tight-lipped, though, and after the first two weeks of silence and having the kid tip-toe around them and his own sleepless nights, Elena and Jeff had sat down with him at dinner and told him they were there to help however they could. That he’d come out of a rough summer and they were aware of that, so if he needed to talk or needed space to let them know. That almost losing a friend like that had to be a horrible experience.

Parser had been like a statue for the entire discussion and, when they had stopped talking and let the table fall to silence he’d smiled at them and asked, “Is that all?”

They hadn’t been able to say anything other than an unsure, “Yeah,” and Parser had excused himself from the table.

He’d partnered up with another rookie named Scraps and found an apartment before pre-season had ended and that was when Jeff and Elena learned you did not talk about Jack Zimmermann to Kent Parson.

It seemed only right to make sure everyone else on the team knew, too.

* * *

Luca Scapelli didn’t understand all the fuss around Kent Parson about Jack Zimmermann. He figured if there was anything to be said by now, someone would have said it, but it didn’t change the fact that Zimmermann was in rehab and likely never coming back to hockey while Parser was his teammate, assuming they both made a spot on the roster.

Parser wasn’t the question. He’d gone first in the draft. He was the kid that was gonna save a failing franchise. He was fast and hockey smart and a smart-ass and the media loved him for all of it. Scapelli was called Scrappy because of his name, but between that and his size and looks people tended to view him as nothing but a dumb goon. Media was always talking about how there wasn’t room for goons on NHL teams anymore.

“Bullshit,” Parser said when Scrappy voiced his fears in dev camp. “You’re fast enough to keep up with me. I need guys like you watching my back. With Dougie on IR they’ll need another D-man. Might as well be you.”

When it was clear Scrappy got to stay up, Parser moved out of Jeff’s and found an apartment with him. He pounded Scrappy’s fist and said, “Let’s show these old guys a thing or two.”

Scrappy was certain he would always believe in those words and the man who said them.

* * *

Alexei Mashkov had followed the Entry Draft that year enough to know a bit about the drama between Kent Parson and Jack Zimmermann. The scenario was a horrible one to imagine himself in: overdosing or having a close friend overdose, pulling out of the draft while at the top of your class or expecting to fill those shoes never knowing if they were really yours or supposed to be your friend’s.

But that had been 5 years before he’d made it to the NHL. The KHL’s start and the contract they pushed him into and the lockout kept him from joining the NHL until he nearly had to re-enter the Draft. Thankfully, between his mother’s connections and his father’s willingness to stand up to the team’s owners when they’d turned to him to make his son sign, he’d made it. He now skated on American ice, playing North American hockey and people seemed to like that, too—at least enough to get him in the All-Star games as a rookie.

“Word has it that Jack Zimmermann is being courted by a few teams now that his stint at college is almost over. Parson, considering your previous chemistry with him on the ice, should we expect to see a competitive offer from the Aces, as well? Will the world finally get to see the Parson-Zimmermann line Canada got to enjoy six years ago?”

“Ultimately, that’s up to our team’s talent acquisition to manage and decide, but people grow and change, and even if they were to end up on a line together, it wouldn’t be the same one.”

Tater knew that wasn’t Parson replying and he peeked through the curtain to see Kent Parson, Owen Troy and their NHL interviewer sitting in front of the All Star backdrop erected in the meeting room.

“Troy’s right,” Parson said. “The Aces are a great team. We all work hard together and that’s what creates great line chemistry.”

“Thank you so much,” the interviewer said as she brought the interview to a close with a smile and a wave as Parson and Troy walked off.

“I don’t need you answering my questions,” Parson snapped once they were out of earshot of the interviewer and camera crew but before they’d realized Mashkov was there.

“Bruh, you’ve been fucked since December for whatever reason. I’m saving you face right now. The silence was fucking painful after she asked,” Troy shot back. “Jeff totally says it’s Zimmermann, too.”

“It’s not Zimmermann.”

“I believe Jeff over you any day.”

“Why are you even still talking to that old geezer? He’s retired and doesn’t know shit,” Kent said with a snort as they turned the corner and stopped in cold surprise at Mashkov’s presence.

“See you on ice,” Mashkov said with a wave, trying to be as normal as possible, but the scowl Parson sent him suggested playing naive hadn’t worked.

He shrugged and stepped past the curtains to wait for his introduction and interview.

It was too far to hear what was being said after that when Parson and Troy did start speaking again, but close enough to hear the bickering voices pick up again all the same.

Parson got a hattie in both games and the Pacific Division won it all. Alexei got drunk off the vodka Ovechkin had in his water bottle.

* * *

“It’s worth the attempt at least, don’t you think? Even if he’s only had college experience since, we’ve had prospects grow in the NCAA and if he can hit that chemistry he had with Parson in the Q…”

Jeff felt like punching his fist through a wall.

Parts of retiring as a player and transferring to front office had been easy: not being blasted into next week by hard hits on already injured joints, getting to stay home with his wife and be there for Mia’s first steps, sleeping in his own bed every night. Other parts… other parts were still harder.

He looked over at Kent, sleeping in the second bed in the double room he’d ended up with, and sighed.

“So tomorrow, we need you to go down to Samwell and meet with the kid.”

Jeff blinked and pulled the phone back flush against his ear as he stepped out of the room, leaving the security latch out to keep the door from shutting behind him and locking him out. “I’m sorry, Matt, but I really don’t think Zimmermann’s a good pick,” he said as he walked down the hall towards the vending machine alcove, his bare feet brushing over trampled carpet.

“Jeff—”

Jeff remembered the call he’d gotten an hour earlier, the way he’d heard Kent’s breath whistling through gritted teeth as he cursed himself and the world and asked for a ride and secrecy.

“I know there’s a lot I still have to learn,” Jeff interrupted, steamrolling over the argument he knew Matt was going to give, “but you guys brought me in because I played on this team for the last eight years. I know these guys and their styles. I know their personalities and values. I know what will mesh on and off the ice. Look, I’ve played with guys before we spent years apart then played with them again and in all those years I learned one very important thing: hockey players are always growing. Their style, their game, the way they see it all and communicate? It’s always changing. You can’t go back to how it was with one player two years ago, let alone five. The miracle you want? It’s a pipe dream.”

Matt huffed on the other end of the line. “He’s still a good player. And with an ELC he’ll take less of a cap hit than signing a UFA and we could use another power forward.”

“We’ve got good prospects,” Jeff pointed out. He’d met up with one today. Matt had likely already read Jeff’s email review. “Dejong got 80 points in the AHL last season. Brunhauser got 72 and he’s got the kinda hockey vision you only see a few times a decade.”

“We sent you out to Boston to check on talent and this is a talent we want you to check on.”

Jeff could hear the frustration in Matt’s voice, but this was one thing he absolutely would not, could not budge on. He might not be Kent’s teammate anymore, but the kid was still his rookie no matter how many years he’d been with the Aces. Jeff had messed up when Kent had been a rookie, pushing in all the wrong ways and saying all the wrong words. He’d learned since. He wasn’t going to be the one to risk pushing him too far again just because his boss thought one guy might be the miracle needed to get them their third cup.

Jeff sighed in his own frustration and scratched at the back of his head as he stared at the drink options on the vending machine. He hadn’t even brought his wallet, but at least Kent was still sleeping. Jeff hated to do this, but he would if it would protect Kent and the Aces. “The kid had a drug problem in the Q and he’s plastered all over social media at a party with alcohol and minors,” he said, already knowing he could be hanging Kent to dry with this, too. It wasn’t like it would take PR too much longer to find the media, anyway, and management thinking Zimmermann was a bad influence on Kent would be another point against him. “I’ll send the pictures, but look up hashtag epikegster 2014 on insta and twitter. I was down there a few hours ago and did not like what I saw. We’ve got enough of a problem with Vegas being considered a party city, and with the BS Marker pulled this past summer, if we want to keep a clean front, Zimmermann isn’t the way to go.”

“Jeff…”

Jeff looked up to see Kent looking at him with the same wounded eyes he’d had when his cab had dropped him half-way between Samwell and Boston where Kent had finally pulled over to ask for help. His eyes had been red, face swollen, hands shaking. Jeff had reached out to mess with his hair and pushed him into the passenger seat so he could drive them the rest of the way back to their hotel.

“I gotta go, Matt.” He didn’t even wait to hear Matt’s reply before hanging up his phone.

Kent opened his mouth first, but Jeff beat him to words.

“I don’t know what happened,” he said, already knowing where Kent wanted to take this conversation. “I don’t need to know what happened. But I’m done seeing you tear yourself apart because of this guy. We don’t need him on the team.”

Kent snorted and shook his head. “You can’t let one fight get in the way of a good acquisition.”

“On the contrary,” Jeff argued, “if he’s gonna have issues with our captain, he’s not a good acquisition for the team. You’re not going anywhere, anytime soon.”

“It was my fault.”

Kent had said that after their first cup win, too, when Jeff had picked him up from the airport after a collect call begging a ride because his phone was dead and he’d lost his wallet. He’d said it as Jeff’s rookie, too, the few times Jeff hadn’t been able to keep himself from prying. Frankly, he’d heard it too many times to care if it was true or not for any of them.

“Then you can figure out how to apologize on your own time,” he declared. “Vegas doesn’t need Zimmermann.” Jeff tucked his phone in his pocket and headed back for his room. “Stay the night. I heard Brick saying something about shaving cream in your pillow at dinner.”

Kent gave him a sad smile and shrugged and followed his lead and that was the end of the conversation. Jeff just wished he still knew how to say,  _ You don’t need him _ , instead.

* * *

Owen was very aware that one of his main jobs as Center on Parser’s line was keeping the heat off Parser. He just wasn’t sure how he was supposed to have prevented this.

He slid off the top of the pile and to the ice when Scraps tugged the Falc off him. Marker was beneath him and Snow and Zimmermann were further down the pile. Owen pushed himself back to shaky feet to find Parser at the bottom of the pile, his helmet having fallen off.

Parser had been odd the whole game, really. He’d missed passes even Owen thought the Falconers were broadcasting pretty openly and when was the last time he’d let a power forward leave him in the dust like that?

He huffed at the memory of Jeff’s request that he keep an eye on Parser this time around and wondered how the guy knew he’d be so far off his game like this.

But even when off his game, Parser was a god on the ice and knew how to get the job done. The problem was that, sometimes, when he got the job done, he got himself into messes he wasn’t so great at getting himself out of.

Owen elbowed past Scrappy and Snow cussing each other out when he saw Mashkov lift Parser off the ice and begin shouting at him in Russian, ready to throw a punch.

And that, well, that was definitely something Owen wasn’t going to allow. Especially with the way Parser was all slouched over like he hadn’t realized he was off the ice yet. And thank fuck for Robinson stepping in and pulling Mashkov away, because Owen really didn’t want to have to fight him right now. They were up 1, had seconds left on the clock, and did not need to go a man down.

“You cool?” he asked Parser, instead, slapping at his shoulders to make sure Parser was paying attention. “Need to go off?”

Parser shook his head and skated over to grab his helmet. “Nah. Head’s fine. Helmet came off after.”

“After video review, the call on the ice stands. Aces goal.”

“Fuck yeah!” Scraps shouted as he skated up to join them, grabbing Parser’s helmet out of his hands and shoving it back on his head before pulling him into a celly.

“I’m gonna lay out Mashkov for ya at the end,” he promised.

Parser snorted and shoved him back towards center ice. “Have fun.”

Owen smiled and skated over to bump Parser’s shoulder with his own. Parser was finally back in the game.

* * *

It was always a disappointment when you didn’t get to lift the cup yourself, but at least it hadn’t gone to Seattle.

Luca’s attention turned from the television screens to his phone, ignoring the shit-talking and glory-days revelry between Carly, Troy and Brick. Social media had always been his thing. PR kinda loved him for it, the way he spoke meme with the best of the millenials and gen-Z kids. It also meant he was the first to catch on to social media-centered news.

Luca scrolled down the trending tag in a fair bit of shock until he found someone who had posted the video and not just a comment or a screenshot.

And the thing was, Luca knew it, the unofficial Aces rule. They might not be able to keep the media from bringing him up, but no one on the Aces ever did. Not around Parser. Luca considered turning off his screen. He considered sticking his phone in his back pocket and forgetting what he’d seen. He considered letting Parser find out on his own. There’s no way he wouldn’t find out soon enough. It was a miracle it’d stayed off the television so far.

He leaned over, anyway. “Uhhh...Hey, Parser, you see this?”

“It’s on the screen, Scraps,” Parser said with a laugh as he pointed up at the television and called the bartender over for a refill.

And Luca could laugh and nod and order another beer, himself. He could avoid the whole grey area around Parser and Zimmermann altogether.

He thought of Jeff asking him about Parser and keeping an eye on him their rookie year, though. He remembered the funk Parser had wound up in after a trip to the east coast after their first cup win. Shit, he knew for a fact Zimmermann had left him fucked up just this past season. You didn’t have to go that far back to know there was a story there.

Luca imagined Parser finding out when he was on his own or when a camera was shoved in his face. He decided he didn’t need to know everything that had happened between Parser and Zimmermann to know he didn’t want to face that happening.

“Naw, look,” he pressed, holding his phone out in front of Zimmermann, the gif of him and his boyfriend kissing on Center Ice looping over and over again above a row of rainbow flags. “It’s all over social…”

And, the thing is, even if Luca didn’t need to know that history, he still had a pretty good idea.

“Ooooh, so he’s gay or whatever? Jesus Christ. You know, why can’t Zimmermann ever do anything fuckin’ regular?”

Luca watched Kent’s eyes widen in shock as he stared at the screen. He watched his fingers tighten and fidget against the phone as Carly railed on about Zimmermann being gay. And Luca would be the first to admit Parser was the ideas guy, but Luca was neither an idiot nor a bad friend.

He eyed Troy who was nervously trying to pull Carly back into their conversation about the glory days then, when it looked like it might actually work, turned to pull his phone out of Parser’s grip.

It took a bit more effort than he thought.

“You okay, Parser?” he asked. “Want some air?”

Parser blinked at him then turned to his new drink. “Nah man,” he said as he picked the glass up and swirled the whiskey sour together. “I’m good.” He took a sip, set the glass down and turned his eyes back to the tv screen above the bar.

“Okay,” Luca said, not quite sure how Parser managed to act like nothing had even happened. He ran his own fingers through the condensation gathering on his beer glass and centered himself on the bar, as well, ready to spend the rest of the night at Parser’s side.

“Pretty brave of him,” he had to admit.

Parser hummed.

* * *

Alexei wasn’t exactly sure what time it was. All he knew was that they had won the cup some time in the last 12 hours or so as the sun wasn’t up yet and he was a lot drunker than he thought he’d end up.

And his phone was ringing.

Alexei shuffled his hand around looking for it on the floor as people who had passed out around the room slowly woke to its volume. That should have been a sign. He tended to keep his phone on vibrate. Instead, he picked up the phone and blindly answered the call. “‘Lo?”

“Zimms?”

Alexei frowned.“No,” he corrected. “Is Tater.”

“Mashkov, why are you answering Jack’s phone?”

That time, the voice was far more recognizable. It also explained quite a lot about the situation when Alexei pulled the phone away to realize it was a Samsung when he owned an iPhone. He put the phone back to his ear. “Why is little rat calling Zimmboni?”

“I can’t congratulate the guy?” Parson asked and Alexei wanted to hang up on him then and there thanks to his supercilious tone. “I mean, he’s definitely gone and done it all tonight, hasn’t he?”

It was hard to believe Parson really meant to congratulate Zimmboni, but the team had done something pretty amazing tonight. “Stanley Cup is heavy,” he admitted with a grin, remembering lifting the cup above his head even if he couldn’t take the lap. Marty and Thirdy had helped hold him steady without his crutches as Zimmboni had handed him the cup as the second person to raise it on their team.

Considering he’d been out for the last three, it was an amazing moment he would never forget.

“Yeah, well, it’s the price of victory,” Parson said, cutting into his revelry. “Look, can you give Jack his phone?”

Alexei decided that was a good idea. He didn’t want Zimmboni to think he’d lost it. “Zimmboni?!” he called out into the room.

“Ugh, no….”

“M’head.”

“Not here, Tater.”

“Nnnnggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh.”

“He’s in room with B,” Alexei said after hearing the groaned complaints. “Maybe not go inside. Just in case.” Alexei was pretty sure they’d taken the cup into the room with them and were as drunk as the rest of the group in their living room, but there was always the dark possibility that he could walk in on something he really did not want to see.

“Yeah, okay,” Parson sighed in surrender, clearly coming to the same conclusion as Alexei. “Probably for the best.”

And despite the haughtiness and sarcasm in his earlier words, there was a deep-seated defeat in those. “I...tell him you call?” he asked, trying to offer a solution. It was Alexei’s fault for answering Zimmboni’s phone in the first place. “You can call again and leave voicemail? I won’t answer.” he suggested as a second option.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Parson said with the same defeat. “He won’t call back anyway. Congrats, Mashkov.”

“You are okay?”

“Yeah. Just fine. Sleep while you can get it, yeah? The next few days are gonna stay wild.”

“Okay.” It wasn’t really an answer, but it looked to be all Parson was willing to give him.

Alexei had begun to pull the phone away from his ear to hang up and toss the phone back on the floor, when he heard Parson begin speaking again. “Actually. Mashkov. Can you do one thing for me?”

“Tell Zi—?”

“No,” Parson interrupted firmly. “That’s not gonna change. Just…” Parson sighed into the phone, loud against Alexei’s ear. It sounded tired and Alexei wondered, momentarily, what time it was for him. “Just keep an eye out for him,” Parson continued. “Media, players, fans...they’re gonna wanna chew him up and spit him out. Keep him safe, yeah?”

“Of course I keep Zimmboni safe,” Alexei replied. He would always do what he could for his friends.

Parson sighed again.

“Thanks.”

The phone beeped, signalling Parson had hung up and Alexei pulled the phone in front of him to stare at it, and the picture of B Jack had set as his background, in confusion. The next time he saw Parson off the ice, he might need to do more than chirp him—assuming he remembered this whole conversation once he was sober.

The NHL Awards would be coming up soon.

* * *

There were a lot of reasons Kent Parson didn't talk about Jack Zimmermann. He wouldn't count being heartbroken as one of them. Initially, maybe, but not in the way most people thought when they talked about being heartbroken. Because Kent Parson hadn't been sad he'd lost a boyfriend—with the draft and the distance and the scrutiny, that would be almost a promise—he'd been sad he lost a friend. He'd been sad he’d lost the person who knew best what it meant for everyone to compare you to your best friend, to pit you simultaneously as teammates and enemies. He'd lost the person he knew he could reach out to and complain about all the pranks everyone was pulling on him because he was the rookie. He'd lost the person he could laugh at who was going through the same thing and the person he could plot his revenge with. Zimms had always had the best pranks.

But, no. Kent didn’t talk about Zimms because what was there to talk about? The media wanted a story. They always had and probably always would. But what was he supposed to say to them? He hadn’t known his best friend was abusing his anxiety meds and mixing them with alcohol until, suddenly, said friend was in the hospital and not responding to his calls?

And then there had been the fans. The ones who questioned if Kent was a junkie partier, too. The ones who questioned if Vegas had wanted Zimms, instead.

So Kent had worked his ass off to prove himself to the world by bringing the Stanley Cup to Vegas.

Jack hadn’t been too happy about that one. They’d fought when Kent showed up at his college—because Jack was going to college now, like some guy whose future wasn’t on the ice—and they both said things they shouldn’t and Kent hoped neither of them meant and it became another reason not to talk about Zimms.

By the time the years of silence began to build up, there wasn’t really a way Kent could see to suddenly break it.

His phone rang and Kent answered without paying attention to the caller.

“This is Parser.”

“What’s Mashkov doing in your place?”

Kent looked to his phone to see it was from Troy. “Why are you asking?”

“Because the last time we played them he tried to bodily throw you across the ice and I need to know if I need to call the cops or Scrappy,” Troy replied as if it were obvious.

“He’s fine,” Kent said to the contrary. “We’re friends.”

“Friends?” Troy asked.

“Friends.” Kent confirmed.

“Since when?”

“Since we started talking at the NHL Awards. I promised I’d show him around Vegas if he could make some time this summer. Show him more than the arena.”

Kent pulled into a parking space in his condo’s garage and turned off the car, letting his phone switch from his car’s speakers back to his mobile.

“I just pulled in, so I’ll be up in a sec,” he said and hung up.

Troy and Alexei were sitting on opposite ends of the sofa when Kent got in. He plopped down between them and picked up the remote. “So there’s this pretty cool new show on Netflix called _Stranger Things_ I was thinking we could wa—”

Troy tackled him. “You’re seriously just gonna leave it at that, huh?” he asked as Kent fought back, their scrabbling turning into a fake wrestle Parser knew he’d lose. He might be fast but he was small—especially compared to Troy—and he didn’t fight dirty with his friends.

“There’s not much to say,” Kent said as Troy pushed his face into the carpet to hold him there. He got a mouthful of cat hair in his mouth and coughed and spat it out. “Tater help!”

“But maybe I shouldn’t fight your team member,” Tater pondered teasingly. “It’s like meeting family, yes?”

“Give! Give!” Kent called out when Troy had his arms and legs pinned to the ground and was about to shove his armpit in his face. “Uncle! Mercy! I’m too young to die!”

“Fuck you, Parser,” Troy said as he stood up. “I wear deodorant.”

“There are some things that can’t be covered up, even by Old Spice,” Kent said in a haunted voice as he sat up.

“Asshole.”

Troy turned to Alexei then and held out his hand. They each gave a firm shake. Possibly too firm. They stared each other straight in the eye then both nodded as if they’d reached a consensus.

“Don’t let Parser play blackjack. He counts cards,” Troy said as they dropped their hands.

“It’s not illegal!” Kent threw his hands up in an old argument.

“I tell Kent I want to see outside of strip,” Alexei confirmed with a shit-eating grin.

“See ya ‘round, Parser,” Troy said with a wave and a nod at Alexei. “Mashkov.”

“He seems nice,” Alexei said when the door shut behind Troy.

“Yeah, he is,” Kent agreed as he moved back onto the couch, significantly closer to Alexei this time around.

“You sure you won’t tell him?”

Kent blinked in surprise. “About us?”

Alexei nodded and rested his arm along the back of the sofa behind Kent.

Kent shrugged. “Some day.”

“Scared?”

Kent shook his head. “Not that he’ll react bad. Some teammates, yeah, but not Troy or Scraps. And they’ll give hell to anyone who does have a problem with it.”

“Then why?”

Kent huffed and leaned back into the sofa, pressing against Alexei’s arm. “Because I don’t need to?” he said, trying to find the words to explain what he meant. “They accept who I am and have my back without me having to give them all the details. I know they’ll listen if I wanted to talk, but...it’s just never been necessary.”

And that was it. The main reason. Kent Parson didn’t talk about Jack Zimmermann because he didn’t have to. Jeff had pushed once and then respected the boundaries Kent needed then. He’d made sure everyone else did, too. Scrappy had never once, in their years of playing together, asked him about Zimmermann at all—hadn’t even tried or, like some of the other players, started to say something, realized what they were saying, backed up about as well as a two-year-old driving a zamboni, and shot off in another direction. Troy was curious, Kent knew. But he never asked or pressed for answers to any of the questions Kent knew were turning around in his rookie’s head. He had, however, been there at Kent’s side, watching his back both on and off the ice, ever since he was first placed on Kent’s line. So Kent had a team and friends he could talk to if he wanted.

Alexei brought his arm in closer, pulling Kent into leaning against him.

Kent wanted. It wasn’t something he was ready to do just yet, he realized, as he watched Alexei out of the corner of his eye, but, if this did continue—if this did become more than a maybe—he wanted. And he knew, when that time came, his boys would be happy to listen.

He picked the remote back up and turned on Netflix.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my 2 betas K and F for getting this fic into fighting shape! Also huge thanks to A for helping me with titles because this might not have made it on-time otherwise.
> 
> The biggest thanks of all to Kylie and Julie for running this event again. You two do so much work and deserve so much love and appreciation for it all!
> 
> Final thanks to Ngozi Ukazu for creating Check, Please! and giving us such a fun sandbox to play in.


End file.
